The Dream's Descent
by Angelmuse
Summary: Christine has left the Opera House with Raoul. However, she and Erik both have the exact same dream, revealing a hidden longing. How will the dream affect the three of them?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I am very fond of these characters, although I have no legal rights to them. The plots they currently find themselves in, however, are entirely my own.**

**A/N: Each writer of POTO stories prefers a certain version of Erik, and I am no exception. So I will briefly explain my Erik. He's a combination of the Lloyd-Webber and Susan Kay characterizations. He does wear a half-mask, instead of the full mask Leroux and Kay have both given him. That's because, when I write about him, it's Gerry Butler I have in mind. He's -- ahem-- a bit hard to shake off.......**

**My Erik, although obsessed with Christine, is also much more romantic, in keeping with Lloyd-Webber's vision of him. Also, due to Kay's influence, I have made his relationship with Nadir, the Persian, a very close, brotherly one in this story. I just love that Persian! His affection and loyalty to Erik, in spite of his disapproval of the Phantom's actions, are truly touching. **

**There was a gap in continuity from Chapter 5 to Chapter 6. Therefore, I wrote a new Chapter 6, and substituted that for the existing one. In the process of posting, I then lost the existing Chapter 7. Ironically, the story still flows better in spite of that. I also changed Chapter 10. The original Chapter 10 then became Chapter 11, and, of course, the original Chapter 11 then became Chapter 12. Unfortunately, now the reviews don't match the content of these chapters. Oh, well...... I just didn't want to take the entire story down, thereby losing all the reviews I've gotten so far. Not to mention the hassle of posting every single chapter again.......**

**I have also revised some passages from Chapters 1 to 3, because they contained unnecessary repetition and awkward sentence structure. **

**Hope you all enjoy! **

**Chapter 1: The Dream Beckons**

In stifling darkness he awoke, trembling, as if startled out of a nightmare. He was in agony, his body drenched in a clammy sweat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reached up and felt his brow. The fever raged in him.

Strange images, one after the other, flitted through his mind. One, however, remained in focus. Christine. Her face imposed itself on all the other images. Her eyes were steadily fixed on him. Their serene calmness fascinated him. She had been his muse, the sole light in his solitary darkness. Christine, Christine……She was gone from him forever, into the arms of another. As the thought washed over him like a slow wave, he began to shake with silent tears. He buried his face in the bed sheets, keening like a wild, wounded animal.

Time spent itself in trickling increments of eternity. He fell back into an uneasy, feverish sleep.

At last, he began to dream.

_He was suddenly on the rooftop of the Opera House, with a full, resplendent moon upon him, and his cape billowing out behind him in a strong, cool breeze. He felt a presence next to him, and a hand in his. He turned slightly, his eyes drawn to hers. His heart opened as they continued to stare at each other. Then, she smiled at him. Wonderingly, he lifted his other hand to caress her cheek. At last, he looked out into the night. His cape had become a mighty wing. He wanted to fly out and away, to become the night, seeing yet unseen, free at last. As he looked back at her, their eyes asked and answered the obvious question. Once more he turned toward the night. Sprinting forward with her, he allowed the breeze that had by now become a forceful wind, propel them out into the sky. They flew off the rooftop with majestic ease, comfortable with each other, with the swiftly flowing wind. They flew through whispering clouds, over all the gleaming lights of the Parisian landscape. The everlasting music of the stars whirled in perfect time to an eternal waltz. It ebbed and flowed; at times, sweetly plaintive, and then suddenly becoming a roaring, rhythmic pulsing sound. They were one with each other and the universe. Thus would it always be….._

Again he awoke. Cruel reality once more plunged him in hellish agony. He tossed restlessly in his bed, screaming her name, over and over, until he could scream no more. He tried to tear at his clothes, but the screaming had tired him out, so he lay, utterly spent, for a long time. He could not even attempt to get up, so that he could try to reach his loaded pistol, which was always near him, ready for any eventuality. He yearned for it. He wanted to feel the cold metal against his cheek, just before he placed it against his temple and pulled the trigger. Gone was the dynamic singleness of purpose that had been fed by her presence in his life. There was nothing now. His soul was as empty as the ever-present darkness all around him. Thus he drifted into sleep again.

He did not know how long he slept. As waking consciousness gradually descended upon him, he could hear her voice singing in his mind, clear and sweet. It was one of his own compositions, "Song for a Night's Romance". Lifting his head ever so slowly, he opened his eyes. Darkness was all around him. He sat up, feeling as if he were coming back from the dead. He breathed in, deeply, then let his breath out, gently. Her voice was fading now...

The fever had abated, and his mind was beginning to clear. He remembered how she had kissed him just before he had given her to the blasted Vicomte. Erik simply could not tolerate the thought that she would be condemned to a bleak existence beneath the Opera House. So, he had given her up to his rival. He himself had thrust her into his arms. She had not refused to go with the young man. Why, he wondered, had she not protested?

He remembered that kiss vividly, and would take it with him to the grave. Her lips had touched his with tenderness, sorrow, fear, and...love. The memory was bittersweet. He closed his eyes in ecstasy as her voice floated back to him. He had to know where the Vicomte had taken her. She could not possibly be entirely lost to him. At this thought, his heart began to pound, the blood surging in his veins.

He knew not how much time had elapsed since he had been burning with the mysterious fever, which had now left him, just as mysteriously. He had to contact Madame Giry as soon as he was able to.

Slowly, he took off his sweaty clothes. Then he fumbled around for a candle, found one, and struck one of the matches that he always kept in the drawer next to his bed. He hesistatingly rose from the bed, and slowly made his way to his simply appointed bathroom. After his bath, he dressed impeccably, in his usual evening attire, complete with cloak and mask. He walked toward the lake, aware now of an ever-mounting hunger. Eating, however, would have to wait. His need to find Christine was the one impulse now governing his actions.

It took him longer than usual to propel the boat across the lake. He was still weak from the fever, which he now believed had been brought on by the extreme distress her parting had caused him, as well as the struggle with the Vicomte, at the edge of the lake that bordered his house. Naturally, he had not had the presence of mind at the time to change out of his wet clothes immediately.

Once across the lake, he entered the first passageway, on his way to Madame Giry's quarters. At first his obsessive thoughts of Christine pushed him forward. Abruptly, however, his progress became difficult. His brisk, pouncing strides slowed. Out of breath, he staggered, trying to find something along the wall that he could use as support. There was only smooth wall beneath his hands. He fell, as a strange dizziness suddenly overtook him. He lay on the floor, panting, lacking the strength to rise. His initial rush of anger gave way to sadness. Perhaps he would never see her again. It was his last coherent thought.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N:** If you have liked this chapter, I do hope you'll review. It would be very encouraging for me. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: **Of course I own none of these characters...There is one, though, who thoroughly owns me...Ah, Erik**...

**Chapter 2: The Dream Descends Again**

She did not know what had awakened her. She closed her eyes again, but her mind would not settle back into sleep. After a few minutes, she sat up, gazing around her room, wondering what could be making her feel so abruptly bereft and fearful, and yet, full of a strange, uplifting hope. She turned to look at the balcony doors, which were only slightly open, due to the unseasonably cool evening breeze. After a brief hesitation, she stood up and walked over to them. Throwing them open, she pulled back the curtains, stepping out onto the balcony. The beauty of the night, illuminated by the full moon, startled her in a rush of ecstatic wonder.

She looked out onto the sleeping rooftops below her, then up at the sky. The tingly breeze played with her hair. She closed her eyes briefly, rubbing her cold arms. His voice now called gently to her... He had sung to her, had composed music in her honor, giving her the gift of his love. He was a man hideous to look upon, but within whose complex soul lay an unearthly beauty that he himself was unaware of. She felt a stab of guilt then, for the sleeping Raoul in the room adjoining hers. He had insisted that they have separate rooms, for the sake of propriety. She had, of course, agreed to this arrangement. Now she realized that she had done so with a certain sense of relief. She was perplexed by this. She did feel a certain affection for Raoul. She had decided to put her relationship with the Phantom in the past, and resolutely turned to a future with the handsome Vicomte. Why then, was she now feeling so disturbed?

Sighing, she turned to go back to her bed. She decided to leave the balcony doors open, although she was sure Raoul would gently chide her for this in the morning, worrying that she might catch cold.

As her head rested on the pillow, she became drowsy. She slept again.

_There was darkness all around her. She was on the rooftop of the Opera House, hundreds of miles away, in Paris. The night was flooded by moonlight, while the stars waltzed around the sky. There was a strong, cool breeze that blew her hair out behind her. Then she saw a lone figure, shrouded in black, standing on the edge of the roof. She walked toward him. When she stood next to him, she slipped her hand into his, as if she had never left him. He turned to look at her, and she smiled at him. She knew fully then that she truly loved him. Erik was the embodiment of a pure love that filled her with the sweetest, most painful delight. He was the master of the night, of dreams that swept into her world to carry her away, beyond herself. His soul blended irrevocably with hers._

She awoke with a loudly pounding heart, suddenly realizing that there was also a loud pounding on her door. Someone was shaking the doorknob with great violence, shouting her name: "Christine !" Still drowsy and drifting in the mesmerizing dream, she slowly became aware that it was Raoul.

Bounding out of bed with guilty haste, she flew to unlock the door,throwing it open. Raoul stared at her, chest heaving, eyes distraught with fear and worry.

"Christine, what's wrong? " he demanded, suddenly becoming angry as relief overcame his initial fears. " Why didn't you open the door when I first started knocking? Are you all right, my love?"

She could not look at him, feeling as guilty as though she had just been caught sleeping with the subject of her eerily vivid dream.

"Christine, look at me!" His voice had become softer, pleading. "Are you ill? Have you had a nightmare? Why didn't you call for me if you were afraid?"

Still unable to look at him, she could only whisper that she was all right, then sighed, and turned away from him to go back into the room.

He followed her back to the bed, where she sat down slowly, keeping her gaze on the floor. He came to sit right next to her, forgetting propriety, forgetting that she was clad only in her nightgown, which, although modest, would tantalize his imagination.

"Tell me what is troubling you, my love," he pleaded. "For God's sake, answer me!"

She tried to look up at him, but couldn't. Instead, she mumbled, "I am very tired, Raoul. Perhaps this swift trip has exhausted me. I need to go back to sleep."

He said nothing for a moment. Then he slid closer to her, putting his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head softly.

"I can see that our hasty flight has indeed tired you completely, little Lotte," he said gently. "Rest then. We will henceforth travel more slowly. I shall come for you in a few hours' time."

Giving her another kiss on the head, he took up her hand and kissed it softly. Then he rose and went to the door, while she slowly lay down again. Just before he closed the door behind him, making sure it was unlocked, he turned back to look at her with a worried expression, then silently left the room.

Christine lay awake on the bed, her mind swirling with confusion. Erik had rejected her, firmly putting her into Raoul's arms himself. She had dejectedly turned away, to hold onto Raoul as they made their way along the underground lake.

Why was she bringing back to mind these images? It was all over -- her life at the Opera Populaire, her music and voice lessons with Erik... She had embarked upon a new existence, with her childhood playmate. She had truly thought that this was what she wanted. Yet, this vividly powerful dream had intruded, and in it she had fully realized the extent of her love for her strange, tormented tutor. Indeed, she should never have allowed him to decide her fate for her. Could Raoul make her soul soar, awakening her hidden genius, so that she became the music that she sang? Erik had kindled a fire in her, a fire that encompassed art as well as sensuality. There was a hidden gentleness within him, and she had brought it to life. He had come to love her as no other ever could. She could not understand why he had thought it necessary to sacrifice his happiness for hers, unless, of course, he was unsure of the extent of her love for him...

As for Raoul...perhaps he was really in love with a long-ago dream, a vaguely remembered childhood friend, and not Christine, the flesh-and-blood woman.

Erik truly was her angel, and he was now in pain. She could feel it, and it terrified her. She must go to him at once. Distraught, she wondered how she could say these things to Raoul -- sweet, gentle Raoul, who was so completely besotted with her? So her mind became a cacophony of thoughts, images, and contradictory feelings, tossing her about on her bed, even as the hours wore on…..

At last the dreaded knock came again, softly this time, on her door.

"Christine?" Raoul called out, almost warily. Receiving no immediate response, he quickly opened the door.

"Christine?" he called out again. His voice betrayed his anxiety.

She slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes, as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep.

"Come in, Raoul," she whispered. "I must speak with you about a matter of great importance."

He came towards her, hesitantly, sensing an ominous portent in her words. This time, he did not sit on the bed next to her. Instead, he sank into one of the plush armchairs near the bed, where the afternoon sun sent a shaft of light onto his face. Feeling a sudden irritation at this, he rose to partially close the curtains.

He sat down again, trying to contain his mounting concern, and looked at her, this woman that he adored. She appeared to the unknowing eye to be a rather frail, shy, retiring creature, yet there was fire in her. He was suddenly unsure as to how he was to approach the possibilities that were presenting themselves to his mind. What if, for instance, she should want to continue her career as an opera singer? That would hardly be a proper activity for the Comtesse de Chagny to engage in. It was troubling enough that he had yet to convince his parents that his marriage to her would only enhance their standing in society. Yet, he was prepared for anything. He had been financially independent since coming of age. Christine would always live in the greatest luxury, once she became his wife.

He now squared his shoulders, facing her, attempting to force himself into calmness.

"Christine, have I not warned you about this unusual cool weather? You left the balcony..."

"Raoul," she interrupted, twisting her hands involuntarily. She still could not look at him. "I have to tell you something that I know will cause you much pain, yet I must make you aware of it."

Raoul became very still, holding his breath.

Sighing deeply, she continued. "Raoul, I cannot marry you." She paused, not knowing how to continue. Her hands would simply not be still...

Raoul did not say a word as he slowly exhaled. There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, as she failed to supply more information to him, he sighed.

"It's him, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "You do love him, after all….. " His voice trailed off.

Again there was a long silence, during which Christine felt the tears begin to course down her face. She did not want to hurt him. He could have any of a number of eager, young, aristocratic ladies for a bride. Why had he chosen her instead?

"I must return to Paris at once, Raoul," she said softly, yet firmly. She now lifted her head to look at him. "He is in terrible pain. I can't explain how or why, but I can feel that pain, and it will give me no peace. "

Raoul stood up quickly, and stepped over to the balcony doors. Pulling back the curtains, he walked out onto the balcony, looking around and below at the expansive country view. The late afternoon sun brilliantly illuminated the houses and vegetation of the picturesque little French town they were staying in. The irony of the moment lay thick and bitter on his tongue.

Turning around, he walked back into the room. Christine had not stirred from where she sat, quietly crying.

"Forgive me, Raoul," she pleaded, between sobs. "I do care for you, I do love you, but not as I love him. My love for him is greater than my fear of him. I can't understand it myself. I do not expect you to forgive me. I am not worthy of you, Raoul. You need a wife whose heart will be wholly yours. I now know that I cannot be that wife. I must return to him at once!"

He looked down at her, his heart warring with opposing emotions. He wanted to hate her, but could not. He wanted to pity her, but that, too, was impossible for him. He only knew that he loved her beyond measure, and had prepared himself to face his parents' imminent displeasure at his choice of a bride. He had also steeled himself for the storm of gossip that would sweep Parisian society when his secret marriage to a non-aristocrat became public knowledge. He did not care. He wanted Christine in spite of all that.

He suddenly knew what he must do, if he truly loved her.

"We will return to Paris immediately, Christine," he said to her sadly, accepting the inevitable. "Perhaps," he added wistfully, "you will discover your true feelings once you have seen him again. He did, after all, entrust you to my care. If you decide to stay with him, there is nothing more I can do. I cannot compel you to love me. I would not have an unwilling wife at my side. I shall come for you as soon as I can arrange for a coach to take us back."

With that, he bowed formally to her, and quickly left the room, without a backward glance.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: **Please do remember to review. We writers thrive on encouraging comments, as well as on thoughtful, constructive, critical ones. I would especially welcome comments for this story, since I've been away from it for so long. I've just come back to it, and do intend to continue. So I would greatly appreciate the feedback. Thanks!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The original credit belongs to Leroux, as we all know. From there, Andrew Lloyd Webber re-interpreted our dear Phantom, and then, it was Susan Kay, with her masterful prose. All I can say is, I hope to be able to walk in their footsteps!**

**Chapter 3: An Unexpected Rescue**

The light was hurting his slightly open eyes. He looked around, weakly. There was a soft glow coming from dozens of candles in the music room. Then he saw the Persian, sitting on a low stool across from him. He attempted to sit up on the divan where Nadir had laid him, and was able to do so, albeit quite slowly.

"Well, my friend, you have rejoined the world, I see!" said the Persian, grimly.

"How...did you find me?" inquired Erik, fighting a sudden dizziness.

"Ah, you forget that I know you too well! Your passageways and rooms have become more familiar to me with time. When I had heard nothing further from you for several days, I decided to come looking for you."

Horrible pain ripped through Erik's chest. How could she have left him so calmly, without protest? Attempting to stifle his emotions, he croaked, "Leave me, daroga, for the...love of...God..."

"I will not leave you, Erik," Nadir answered, quietly. "You have obviously been ill, and have probably not eaten since I saw you last. Come, let us remedy that situation at once."

Walking over to Erik, he grasped him by the shoulders, and tried to lift him. Erik furiously threw him off, and, tottering, sank back onto the divan.

"I do not need your pity!" he screamed, sobbing even in his fury.

The Persian sighed. "Come, man!" he said softly. "You must overcome this melancholy. You need to have some food in your body, as soon as possible. Then you will more easily be able to deal with the present circumstances. Come."

Nadir again grasped him by the shoulders. This time, Erik offered no resistance, but kept his head down, ashamed that another man had seen his tears. After all, he was not wearing his mask...Horrors! Where _was_ the blasted mask?

As if sensing his thoughts, Nadir steadied him with one arm, and pulled something out of one of his pockets. It was Erik's mask, which he silently handed to him. Erik took it with trembling fingers, quickly putting it on.

"Daroga," he whispered, "you must have been appointed as my guardian angel. I would have surely died had you not found me."

Nadir chuckled. "Come, come! There is a saying that there is one who is closer than a brother, is there not?"

"Is that to be found in your sacred Koran?" asked Erik, weakly, as the Persian took him through a passageway that would take them to the Rue Scribe exit.

"No, indeed, _Monsieur le fantome._ It comes from the Book of Proverbs, straight out of your Old Testament."

Erik sighed, grateful for the Persian's presence, in spite of himself. "You know very well that I am not very familiar with that book, Nadir!"

"That is not a good thing, my friend," said the Persian, in a heavily serious tone of voice. "The Almighty is not to be lightly ignored. But I shall at present spare you any lectures on the matter."

They then lapsed into silence, slowly walking through the endless, twisted corridors that Erik's unique architectural genius had created, until at last they came to the Rue Scribe exit, and out onto a Parisian street. It was fortunately pitch black outside. Nadir hailed the first brougham that passed.

The Persian helped Erik into the vehicle, and, rapping loudly on the roof, shouted, "To the Rue des Anges!"

"Where are you taking me?" asked Erik curiously. "The 'Street of Angels'? Where is that? I have never heard of it!"

"It is where I live," answered Nadir, chuckling. "That is a common nickname for it. The real name is rather uninspiring, I assure you. Indeed, it is so much so, that it escapes my memory at present. I can properly feed you there, and we can then decide what to do."

Erik leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. "Daroga," he whispered, so low that Nadir had to bend over him to hear his words, "I have lost her, daroga...my angel...and yet, I dare to hope...I love her, my friend...I would give my life for her..." As he said this, he suddenly drifted off into sleep.

"Rest, now, my friend," whispered in turn the daroga. "Allah may yet be merciful, in spite of all that you have done. Your angel may yet return."

Nadir settled back in his seat, deep in thought. At last, he smiled, his eyes suddenly moist. He had never known quite what to make of Erik. He had by turns felt fear, then admiration and grudging respect for him. At times, Erik's callous behavior had appalled him, Yet, this was the same man who had been so kind to little Reza, Nadir's dying son...And now, this strange man was madly in love, so much so that he would be quite willing to let himself waste away for that love.

Nadir slowly let out a long breath, his mind struggling with perplexing feelings. He did not exactly know when it had happened, but somehow, he had indeed acquired the closest thing to a brother.

Erik felt someone shaking him rather roughly.

"Erik! By Allah, but you are frightening me! Wake up, I say!"

Erik slowly opened his eyes, to find the Persian's disturbingly piercing ones looking at him with the greatest concern. He sat up suddenly, his heartbeat accelerating in the space of mere seconds. Shaking his head, he grasped Nadir's arms, and looked wildly up into his face.

"Where are we?" he demanded hoarsely.

Nadir answered with all the calmness he could muster. "We have stopped in front of my building. Come, let me assist you, my friend."

Erik tightened his grip on Nadir's arms. Nadir bore it patiently, knowing that this masked genius who had never ceased to intrigue him was on the verge of going into shock.

"Nadir...I must find her! I must, I tell you!" His voice broke, and he turned his face away from the Persian in sudden shame.

"All in good time, my friend," Nadir said soothingly, as if he were speaking to a child. "But now, we must endeavor to properly feed this gigantic frame of yours. Come."

He then helped Erik alight from the carriage, and enter the bulding.

Several hours later, Erik almost felt like a new man. Both Nadir and his manservant, Darius, had collaborated on a hearty meal for him. His mind was crystal clear now. He would have run out of the apartment in great haste, however, had Nadir not forcibly restrained him.

"Erik," Nadir tried for patience once more. "You are not one to rush about mindlessly. I do not understand why you are behaving so irrationally."

Erik sighed, looking away from him once more. "What if she doesn't come back to me? What if she cannot find me?" He suddenly stood, and began pacing the room in great agitation.

Nadir remained seated. Erik needed a steadying hand at the moment. "I shall help you find her. But first, I would like to talk with you about another matter. I need some answers."

Erik looked at him, knowing what the Persian was about to ask him. He said nothing.

Without flinching, Nadir plunged right in. "Why, Erik? Why all this senseless violence? What purpose did it serve to bring the chandelier down? Or did you mean to make innocent people suffer simply because you yourself were in pain?"

Erik wanted to feel anger, but, surprisingly, could not. His shoulders sagged, and he sank onto the divan.

"I...am not...myself, Nadir," he murmured, slowly. "I can only feel a great sadness now. I will continue to feel thus until Christine and I are reunited..."

"You cannot answer my questions, then?

"You must be aware that I cannot", Erik replied morosely as he lowered his head onto his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not, of course, own these characters, although I almost feel I know them! But they do belong to me, as they belong to all of us who love them...most especially Erik!**

**Chapter 4: A Visit from the Persian**

Madame Giry sighed yet again, in exasperation. She had known that it would come to this. Christine had inevitably chosen the Vicomte, thus breaking Erik's heart. She toyed nervously with her hairbrush. She knew the time was approaching for ballet rehearsals, but she had remained in her dressing room, in a pensive mood. Her little Meg had burst in but scant moments before, excitedly delivering a mysterious envelope to her. Giry had looked at the beautiful penmanship, and instantly knew it to be Christine's. She tore it open at once. Meg had gasped when she read the message.

"Maman," she had whispered in astonishment, "did she not leave to marry the Vicomte?" Here she sighed in girlish ecstasy, thus confirming her mother's suspicions that her otherwise practical daughter was enamored of the handsome young man.

"She has had a change of heart..." Then she had been suddenly reminded of the ballet rehearsal.

"Go and prepare, Meg," she had said, becoming the strict ballet instructor once more. "You know you have to work on your _pas de deux._ I will think of what must be done about this."

"Why, Maman," exclaimed her daughter. "You must give him the message, of course!"

Madame Giry smiled at Meg's excitement. "_Oui, ma cherie,_" she answered, greatly amused. "Go get ready now. _Tout suite!_ "

"Yes, Maman," the young girl replied, swiftly exiting the dressing room.

Now Madame Giry was left alone with her thoughts. How would she get this message to him? She dared not traverse the twisted tunnels that led to his mysterious lair. In fact, she had never been there herself, nor had she asked Erik to show her the way. She knew that he could abide no intrusions. Thoughtfully, she flicked the opened envelope with her fingers. Perhaps she would go to Box Five after the rehearsal, hoping he would contact her there, as was his custom. However, she had not heard from him for days. She worried that he had some crazy notion of harming himself...

Looking down at the envelope, she took out the letter, and re-read it.

_My Dearest Love:_

_I should never have left you, even though you yourself sent me away with Raoul. Please believe that I love you. I am returning to you as quickly as I am able. Wait for me at the Opera House. Your Rose will embrace her Nightingale..._

_Your adoring Christine_

Madame Giry tucked the missive into her strait-laced bodice, and rose to leave. Yes, she decided, she would wait for Erik in Box Five. She walked over to the door, lost in thought, remembering her recent encounter with the Parisian police.

_"But I tell you, Monsieur le commissaire, I do not know his whereabouts at present. He is a master magician. He knows all the hidden passageways of the Opera House. Indeed, he built most of them himself."_

_"But surely, Madame," persisted the commissary of police, rather wearily. "you, most of all, would have been privy to his secrets? I find it very difficult to believe that you would not know the route to his hidden lair." As he said this, he pompously adjusted his lorgnette._

_"No, Monsieur." She shook her head vehemently. "He trusted no one with such information. I have always contacted him at the opera box I have already told you about."_

_The commissary sighed. "Very well, Madame," he conceded. "You may leave. I regret that you have not been able to assist us in this matter. Please do not attempt to leave the city. We may need you to come in again for further questioning. Good afternoon."_

_"Good afternoon to you, too, Monsieur," she pleasantly answered, with a slight nod of her head. She then got up and walked over to the door, which he gallantly opened for her._

Madame Giry continued to walk the corridors, on her way to the rehearsal. As she emerged into one of the passageways leading to the stage, she was surprised to see a man, dressed in outlandish clothes, apparently barring her way.

"May I speak with you, Madame?" he murmured, in an obviously foreign accent.

She was at once aware of his identity. "You must be the Persian Erik has mentioned to me, on more than one occasion!"

He bowed. "Indeed, Madame, at your service. I am here on his behalf, as he is presently unable to come to you himself. I can take you to him, however."

"Well," said Giry thoughtfully, "this is a most interesting turn of events. Is he not here, in the cellars of the Opera House?"

"No, he is not, " replied the daroga. "He is...elsewhere...He requested that I ask you whether you have any messages for him."

"Yes, I do, Monsieur," she replied, "but I am on my way to a ballet rehearsal. If you wish, I can give you the message to take to him directly."

"Is it from Christine?", inquired the daroga.

"Indeed it is. She writes that she will meet him here, at the Opera House." She smiled shyly. "If you would give me a moment, Monsieur..." Turning away from him, she dipped her hand into her bodice, hastily withdrawing the envelope.

The daroga took it, then hesitated. "Please excuse me for questioning you, Madame, but.... did you open this?"

She met his eyes directly. "Christine would have trusted me to do so, Monsieur. She regards me as her mother. After all, she grew up with my Meg."

"Very well, Madame," he replied, satisfied. He bowed again. "I shall speedily take this to Erik, and bring back a reply, if he doesn't return himself."

Madame Giry gave him a rather puzzled look. "Is he well, Monsieur? Has something happened to him?"

Nadir smiled wryly. "No, Madame, he is not well at all. He has been stricken with the oldest illness in the world -- love! He will never recover, I'm afraid. His only cure seems to be Miss Christine Daae. I pray to Allah that she will safely return to him. Good evening to you!"

She replied in kind, and watched him as he strode away. _'Well,' _she thought, _'Erik will soon be reunited with her...if he is not taken into custody first..." _Her heart constricted as she considered the possibility.

Several slim ballerinas slipped past her, chattering and laughing. When they caught sight of her, they skittered away as fast as they could. Madame Giry was well-known for her strictness. They dared not risk one of her withering glances if they were late to the rehearsal. Ironically, Giry herself would be late now.

She firmly strode after the girls.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: 'The Rose' Returns to Paris**

The coach lurched suddenly, sending Christine across the seat, straight into Raoul's lap. He stiffened, but made no attempt to push her away; instead, he looked fixedly out the window. She began to push herself away from him, but as she slid her right hand back, she saw his left hand swoop down on it, holding it prisoner.

She closed her eyes and swallowed with difficulty. Then she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. She began to straighten herself up, and attempted to pull her hand out from under his. He suddenly pulled her hand up to his lips, and brushed a feathery-soft kiss over her knuckles, his eyes still on her. She forcibly jerked her hand out of his grasp, and moved back to her side of the coach. Turning away from him, she gave all her attention to the swiftly moving scenes outside her window. He did not pursue the issue, but sighed, and moved his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

There was a tension-laden silence inside the coach for many miles thereafter. The landscape went by outside the windows, the light from the sun changing gradually as it traveled across the sky.

Keeping her eyes closed, she forcibly thrust Raoul's pain from her mind, focusing on the dream, instead. Again she saw herself on the rooftop. Again she slipped her hand easily into Erik's, and he turned in surprise to look at her. She returned his look calmly, without fear. She hungrily took in his masculine beauty.

"Christine," Raoul said, interrupting her thoughts. "We have arrived at our destination."

She turned slightly, and, opening her eyes, looked around. She avoided meeting Raoul's eyes again. She said nothing in answer.

"Christine, my love..." he began, but seeing her downcast expression, stopped.

Sighing, he opened the door on his side, and nimbly alighted. He took a second or two to straighten his _cravat_, and pulled on his jacket, then went around to open the door for her. Reaching inside, he offered her his hand. Still without looking at him, she took it, and carefully descended.

They had finally arrived in Paris, after several days on the road. Christine slowly lifted her hand to her throat in sudden apprehension. Had the secretly hired messenger delivered her letter to MadameGiry? Would her eagerly anticipated reunion with Erik go off as planned?

"Christine, are you all right?" Raoul was speaking to her.

"Yes, yes..." she answered, nodding slowly, her eyes unfocused, as if she were in a trance.

"Come, then," he said, offering her his arm, ever the gentleman. Her mind instantly flew to Erik. He was just as much of a gentleman as Raoul, but when he held out his arm to her, she perceived a subtle sensuality in the gesture, a sensuality that was palpably absent when Raoul performed the same gesture. His had more of a brotherly air to it.

Therein lay the contrast between the two men. One was the soul of gentility, with centuries of aristocratic lineage and breeding behind him. The other was a soul on fire, an aristocrat of the mind and heart.

Raoul led her toward the steps to their hotel. She followed, as if with no will of her own. "Come, you must rest, and then we will talk, later, or tomorrow, perhaps. I perceive that you are overwrought." He glanced at her, his brows knitting together in worry.

At these words, she came full tilt back to reality, and snatched her arm from his grasp.

"No, Raoul," she said, softly but firmly, directly focusing her eyes on him. "I cannot rest. Not now. I must go directly to him. I ask you to order a carriage for me, at once."

His sharp intake of breath told her that he was striving to control himself. He did not, after all, intend to fly into a rage the way Erik probably would, in similar circumstances. He decided to try to reason with her.

"Christine, this is madness, my love. We have only just arrived. Come and rest, at least until tomorrow. I assure you that I shall not disturb you unless you wish me to do so. You have my word as a gentleman."

She began to shake her head vehemently, from side to side. Her eyes clouded over with tears, and she turned away from him.

"Raoul, Raoul," she cried out. "Please...for the sake of the love you say you feel for me..."

He stiffened visibly at this, and stepped back from her.

"I do not say I feel this love for you, Christine. I do indeed feel it, with every fiber of my being. I believed you felt it, too, but now...You have become a stranger, and yet, my feelings for you remain the same."

She lowered her head as the tears slipped down her face. The burden of guilt his pained words laid on her was overwhelmingly heavy. She was suddenly conscious of passersby staring at them, of carriages full of gaily laughing passengers, pulled by smartly stepping horses. Life was going on around their little tragedy.

She looked up at him again. "I am sorry, really I am, Raoul. I must go. He is in terrible pain, as I have told you. Please order a carriage for me."

Raoul bowed his head. His heart was furiously beating in his chest, and a terrible hatred for Erik arose in him. His jaw clenched.

"Very well, I shall call a carriage for you."

She turned away, unable to speak, attempting to stifle a sob.

"Wait for me here. I shall return presently." He turned on his heel, and climbed the steps leading into the hotel.

Christine turned around, looking up and down the busy street, twisting a scented handkerchief over and over in her hands. The late afternoon sun was sending its golden rays through the thinning foliage of the autumn trees, and a slight breeze picked up some fallen russet leaves in front of her, depositing them on the ground again just a few feet away. People of all sorts were strolling about, as the temperature was quite pleasant. Aristocratic gentlemen in their top hats and immaculately-pressed suits, accompanied fine ladies whose dresses reflected the latest Parisian fashion rage, with long, puffy sleeves and form-fitting skirts. The ladies' hats were true masterpieces of the hatmaker's trade, with wide, dipping brims done in black and white stripes, or brilliant, Impressionistic colors.

There were tradesmen, too, hurrying home from work, and it was quite easy to spot the occasional university professor or governess, the latter usually walking with at least one child beside her, as well as the child's mother.

Christine noticed all these things, and yet she did not notice them. She would previously have derived great pleasure from the ordinary art of people-watching; now, however, this whole moving landscape of humanity held little interest for her.

In her mind, she could see Erik standing stonily before her, with those piercing golden eyes that never missed anything.

'_Please believe that I truly do love you. How can I not, when you are the other half of my soul, which you have so slyly stolen away? I was afraid of you, yes. I was so confused...I truly believed that you would hurt me, you who have been my Angel, who have breathed life into my soul...That is why you gave me to someone who would protect me, even if my true self was stifled in the process...My love, I have now seen who you truly are. I am no longer frightened, Erik. In my mind, I have kissed your eyes, your cheeks awash with love's tears, your lips that have yearned for so long to feel the taste of love. Your face held no terror for me when I took it between my hands, looking into those eyes that see into my very depths...I want to look into those eyes again...I want to savor the feel of your tongue in my mouth, mixed with your tears...I want your arms, those arms that hold me with such tender passion, to encircle me with a strength that will not, cannot, crush that which it loves...Erik...I am coming back to you...your rose will soon be with you again...and you will never, never, be alone again...not ever. Believe this, my love.'_

A couple of minutes later, a carriage drawn by two splendid Andalusian geldings pulled up in front of the hotel. Christine quickly looked around, hoping Raoul would not decide to follow her, and approached the coachman, calling out to him, "Have you been instructed to pick up a passenger, Monsieur?"

The coachman smiled down at her, nodding. He alighted from his seat, and, walking over to her, assisted her into the carriage.

"Where shall I take you, Mademoiselle?" he politely inquired.

"To the Opera House," she replied, firmly.

"Very well, Mademoiselle." He snapped the reins, and the horses took off at a smart trot.

Another coachman drove up, and, seeing no one waiting, resigned himself to sitting for a long time. Several minutes went by. The coachman was getting impatient. He turned around in his seat, and finally decided to climb down and inquire as to how much longer he was to wait. At that precise moment, a young man who appeared to be greatly distressed came out from behind a side entrance to the hotel, leading a fine white Arabian gelding. Walking over to the carriage, he was in time to see the coachman climb down.

"Monseiur," he addressed the coachman, his voice taking on an alarmed tone, "Where is the young lady that you were to take as a passenger?"

The coachman raked his eyes contemptuously up and down his figure. These aristocrats! _Sacre bleu!_

"Now, then, young sir," he answered sarcastically. "As you can see, there is no young lady to be found. Nor did I know I was to have such a passenger. I was merely told to bring the carriage around, and wait." With this, he spat at the ground.

"Well, yes, those were indeed your instructions," answered Raoul, becoming more agitated. "Did you not see a young lady standing out here just now?"

_"Mais non! _I think that you are crazy, my boy!" Swearing profusely, he took off his hat, shook it, and walked away, shaking his head as well.

Raoul felt a cold anguish sweep over him. He had no way of knowing what had become of Christine. Had that man somehow known where she would be staying, and come for her? He turned the horse around to walk back to the hotel stables. He had enough money to make sure the very finest of hired detectives would get information for him. He simply had to act as quickly as possible.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Message Delivered**

Nadir had been pleasantly surprised by Madame Giry's candor and obvious loyalty to Erik. But then, Erik had told him of her unfailing support, in spite of her strong disapproval of his actions. She thought of him as the son she had never had.

When he entered his apartment, he was immediately set upon by Erik, who jumped up from the divan, and roughly grasped the Persian's robe.

"Where is she?" His tone was at once pleading and menacing.

"All in good time, my dear sir," replied the Persian, with an aplomb that stoked Erik's impatience.

"You are truly maddening, daroga! Have you.....?"

Nadir placed a gentle finger to his lips, silently producing the envelope with his other hand.

Erik seized the message immediately, his hands trembling. "What, you've opened it?!" His gaze turned furiously on his friend.

"No, Erik, I have not. It was opened by Madame Giry herself. She informed me that you would trust her. Is that not true?"

"Yes, yes, it is. I suppose she wished to ascertain which one of us had sent it -- Christine, or myself."

Erik walked over to the divan, and sat down as he withdrew the message from the torn envelope. As he quickly perused it, his eyes misted over. When he had finished, he held it to his chest, looking over at the daroga.

"I dared not hope......" His lips quivered slightly. Looking down at his chest, he held the note up again, and re-read it. Then he silently handed it over to the Persian, who had quietly come over to sit next to him.

Nadir read it quickly himself, and then looked at Erik, smiling. "Well, my friend! This certainly settles the matter! I suspected as much!"

Erik glanced at him, smiling as well, although he could not trust himself to speak as yet. Nadir clapped him on the shoulder.

"I assume you wish to go to her at once, but I would caution you agaisnt doing so. The Opera House is sure to be watched."

Erik's smile disappeared. "Yes, of course it will be. Where could we meet, then?"

"I cannot bring her here, either," the daroga mused. "I have already taken a risk in bringing you, and then seeing Madama Giry. The Parisian police, although not as bright as their Persian equivalent, might see a connection."

Erik had to laugh at the comparison. "You are entirely correct in your observation, daroga!" Then his expression sobered, and he returned to the matter at hand.

"I am still wondering where........Ah, I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed.

The Persian looked puzzled.

"I made the acquaintance of a certain priest several years ago. He is much like you -- a rebel without a cause. He says mass at a chapel on the outskirts of the city, and lives in a small house behind the chapel. I could meet Christine there, and marry her at once, to boot!"

The Persian grinned, then looked at him somberly. "Erik, while I am happy for you, I must tell you that you will be making Christine a fugitive. Surely you must realize that. As your wife, she will be deemed an accomplice of sorts."

Erik nodded. "I do realize that, believe me. But do you think for a moment that this will constitute an impediment for us?" His steady golden gaze was piercing.

Nadir sighed. "I suppose not. I am not comfortable with this situation. It is not, of course, an ethical one, and you are well aware of my feelings regarding such things. Still, for the sake of my little Rezza......"

"Thank you, my friend," Erik said in a thick voice, as he squeezed the Persian's shoulder.

"I shall get my manservant to take a message to Mademoiselle Daae. She must surely have arrived at the Populaire by now."

The daroga rose as Erik slumped back on the divan, feeling a mixture of elation and mounting anticipation.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Reunion**

Erik stood before the chapel doors, pacing nervously from one side to the other. Feeling the soft touch of the moon upon him, he stopped his pacing to look up at its round, eternally smiling face. A cloud drifted in front of it, and he sighed, lowering his head once again.

Her letter had literally brought him back to life. He fervently hoped Darius had been able to give her his reply, and would soon be bringing her to him...

_How sweet the face of passion's delight, _

_the lilting melodies displayed upon thy ravish'd lips, _

_the adoring lover longingly doth list..._

He whispered the words he had long ago written in her honor, on the day that he had sent her back up to the sunlight, so that she might rehearse for the part of Margarita in _"Faust""_.

A somewhat distant sound set him on alert. He remained in place, very, very still, in front of the chapel doors. His heart started up a fierce rhythm that soon moved into his throat.

Across the park they came, toward him, Nadir, and...she who haunted his dreams. Ah, he thought, the daroga had decided to bring her himself, after all.

As if in a trance, he came down the steps, slowly, his booted feet making no sound upon the well-worn stone. Everything around her took on a vivid immediacy. His eyes were the artists that stored each exquisite detail of her -- that face, whose beauty shone like no other, her hair, whose softness his hands would touch again.

Nadir stayed back while the two walked toward each other, mesmerized.

Christine saw him through the blur of tears. In the brilliant moonlight, she noticed, as never before, the sweep of his night-shaded hair, the masculine breadth of his shoulders, accentuated by his majestic cloak, the mask that lent him an air of mystery and power...She saw the other half of her own soul, albeit a dark one.

Finally, they stopped a few paces apart, gazing at each other with glistening eyes, lips partly opened in wonder.

Erik reached out a trembling, black-gloved hand. Christine stepped closer, and, reaching out an equally trembling hand, let him grasp it. He sighed deeply, and, very gently, pulled her to him. She never took her eyes from his, even as he began to sing, so softly only she could hear him. Just as he hit the highest note, he enfolded her firmly in his arms, and sighed again, closing his eyes. He felt her sobbing quietly into his chest, her arms encircling his waist, and gave himself up to the glorious delight of simply holding her, of brushing the unmasked side of his face agaisnt the top of her head.

Christine had never experienced such happiness. Feeling his face tenderly bury itself in her hair, she felt a desperate urge to caress it, pressing her lips upon his.

She moved her head away from his, and looked into his eyes. Erik took her face in his hands, covering it with little kisses, caressing her curls, whispering soft endearments to her.

"Christine, Christine," he repeated, over and over. "My sweet love...Christine..." He unabashedly wept into her hair, holding her, caressing her back, breathing in her sweet scent. At last, slightly untangling himself from their embrace, he lifted her face to his once more, hungrily swooping down upon her lips with all the desperate longing that had long oppressed him.

She gave herself up to him completely. She wanted all of him, to be hers forever. Never again could she bear not to look into his golden eyes.

She broke the kiss first, and her eyes once again met his. She reached up, to touch the edge of the mask. Not taking her gaze from his for one instant, she allowed her fingers to slide from his brow down the nose of the mask, and finally down to his lips, which were still slightly wet from the powerfully passionate kiss they had just shared.

Erik stared at her throughout, marveling at the obvious depth of her love, and her willingness to surrender totally to him, which he saw in her eyes. He knew quite well what she was trying to tell him with the slow movement of her fingers upon his mask. She required his willing surrender, as well. She had come to him, entirely of her own free will, for he had not enticed her with the seductive power of his voice. She wanted his complete trust, his unconditional vulnerability. Dare he allow her to take off the mask?

She breathlessly awaited his decision as she continued to gaze at him. He closed his eyes as a wave of pain washed over him. Then he felt his heart opening, and he knew that he had no choice but to give her this gift of himself.

When he finally opened his eyes, she clearly read his answer in them. Her smile was radiant. Reaching around the edge of the mask, she gently began to pry it away. He flinched involuntarily as he felt her fingers probing, slightly grazing his skin. Yet, he made no move to stop her, simply closing his eyes once more, bracing himself for the fresh pain he was sure would assault him when his face lay completely exposed to her gaze. He remembered that terrible day, when she had seen his unmasked face for the very first time. He silently told himself that this time, everything would be different. Now he felt a gentle, but firm, tug. The mask slowly came away, falling out of her hand onto the grassy ground...

Then he felt the kisses she pressed on his hideous face. She covered both his cheeks, his chin, his temples and brow, while holding his face in her hands as if it were the most precious object in the world. Throughout this delicious ordeal, Erik suffered in silent delight, eyes still closed, hardly knowing whether he lived or died, the tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

At last, he opened his eyes to meet her own, before pulling her into his arms to claim her lips again. She opened her mouth to him, answering his passion with hers, pressing closer into his body. His cloak enveloped them both.

Looking on from afar, Nadir sighed, remembering his own sweet wife. She had never had to share him with any other woman, as Moslem law allowed Persian men to do. He could not forsake her arms to seek pleasure in other arms...The daroga now thanked the Almighty that she had been in his life, bestowing her deep love on him. He also gave thanks for being the instrument that had brought about this long-awaited reunion.

At last, he turned away, to walk toward the little house behind the chapel. Madame Giry and Meg were there, as temporary guests of the priest who officiated at the chapel.

In the deep night, in the middle of a little Parisian park, near a beautiful Gothic chapel, two lovers kissed, embracing. A living flame that had never once gone out engulfed the lovers in its everlasting warmth.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: The Dream Fulfilled**

The moonlight shone intermittently on the heavy, wooden doors of a chapel in a park in an obscure part of Paris. There was a slight chill in the air, but this did not deter the silent form that walked up to the doors, and swung one of them open. Behind him, five more silent forms followed, walking up the stone steps. All six entered the chapel. The last one to go in, a certain Persian daroga, noiselessly closed the door behind him.

Only when they were all inside did they light their candles, and then proceeded up to the altar. Christine sighed. She would have wanted a truly joy-filled ceremony, with daylight shining through the stained-glass windows, the pews filled with jubilant worshippers, and the chapel decorated with arrangements of roses, orchids, and lilies. This somber gathering was more fitting for a funeral. Yet, she had not hesitated when Erik proposed that they married at once. She had assented immediately. Luckily, the priest who had befriended Erik had also agreed to the hasty, secret ceremony.

As if reading her thoughts, Erik squeezed her hand. Pulling her over to him, he whispered in her ear, "I know this is not the type of ceremony you would have wanted, my love. I will make up for this by loving you for the rest of my life." Then he raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it with restrained passion. They continued up the central aisle, until all stood before the altar rail. There was a small gate at the center of the rail, facing the altar. Only the priest and his assistants were allowed to enter. Father Lecourt, dressed in the garments used to celebrate Mass, went in, while the others waited in front of the rail. Madame Giry and her daughter immediately stepped forward, kneeling on one of the cushions before the rail. Christine did the same, and quickly motioned for Erik to follow her example. Nadir, as the only non-Christian present, simply stood right where he was, next to the first row of pews.

As the priest began reciting the Introit, Erik stole a look at his bride, whose hand was firmly enclosed in his. She was breathtakingly beautiful, he thought proudly. Madame Giry had improvised a veil from a delicate, gossamer fabric she had acquired on extremely short notice from a next-door neighbor. The gown Christine was wearing, while not a wedding dress, was exquisitely detailed. It was a delicate shade of beige, with a modest _decolletage_, and full, long sleeves adorned with little yellow roses. It tapered very becomingly at her small, girlish waistline, and the skirt flared out slightly. Giry had pulled it from her own extensive wardrobe. It fit Christine perfectly.

Feeling Erik's eyes on her, Christine returned his gaze, smiling. His mask, was, of course, in place, and he was wearing his usual evening attire. Her lips parted slightly as her eyes roved over his face. She thought he looked especially handsome tonight, even with the mask. She wanted to see his face completely, his perfect, handsome side, as well as the side marred by a disfigurement that had long ago ceased to matter to her. His golden eyes glistened as they peered into her own, and she noticed that his breathing was rather erratic. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. He mouthed the words, "I love you." She mouthed back, "I love you, too." He could not resist leaning over to whisper into her ear, "You look absolutely beautiful!". To his amused surprise, she whispered back, "So do you!"

Madame Giry looked over at them, smiling, as Father Lecourt continued with the ceremony. Nadir, meanwhile, shifted uneasily, unaccustomed as he was to attending religious events not of his faith. Nevertheless, he was pleased to be able to play the part of Erik's best man.

The ceremony went on smoothly. Its most solemn moment, the consecration, had just ended. Father Lecourt now turned, and approached the altar rail, with a goblet full of wafers in his hands. Christine received Communion reverently, then lowered her head. Erik looked up, directly into the priest's eyes. He simply shook his head, and the priest nodded, understanding. Then he turned away, taking the goblet back to the altar.

After what seemed long minutes, Erik looked up, just in time to see the priest coming down the steps toward the two of them. He heard Madame Giry stand and walk over to them. Meg followed her mother. She and Christine exchanged excited glances. Nadir quietly came up behind them, also, standing next to Giry and Meg.

The time for the wedding ceremony itself had arrived. Erik's heart skipped a beat, and started up a dramatic drumming in his chest. He looked at Christine, whose head was down. In the glowing candlelight, he could see her blushing furiously through the thin veil.

The priest cleared his throat, looking steadily at the couple before him.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

As the priest continued, Christine and Erik stood up, faced each other, and joined hands. They were both smiling joyously, their eyes full of love. Madame Giry smiled tearfully as the priest went on with the ritual. Meg sighed rather dramatically, wiping at her eyes. Nadir quietly smiled as well, while reliving his own wedding memories.

"Christine," recited Lecourt, "do you take this man to be your lawful, wedded husband, to love and to cherish, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Smiling shyly, Christine stared into Erik's eyes, and murmured, "I do, with all my love." Erik squeezed her hands, smiling. When the priest repeated the question for him, he said firmly, "I do, with all my heart!"

Lecourt's own face now also broke into a broad smile, and his eyes shone suspiciously. He suddenly chuckled, and announced, "I now pronounce you husband and wife!"

Erik stood looking at his Christine, unable to move. The moment he had been awaiting for years had finally come to pass. He was not accustomed to feeling such happiness...The thought suddenly struck him -- they had no rings to exchange! There had simply not been enough time for him to purchase any. He would make sure to do so as soon as he was able.

Clearing his throat once more, Lecourt said, meaningfully, "Erik, you may now kiss your bride!"

In a daze, Erik slowly moved toward her. She looked up at him, her face made even more beautiful to his eyes by the happiness that radiated from it. He touched her veil with trembling hands, and slowly, even reverently, lifted it, as his breathing stopped momentarily. Then he gently laid it back onto her head, and, leaning down slightly, placed his lips upon hers, closing his moist eyes.

Christine looked up at him, her own eyes brimming over. As his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes as well, throwing her arms around his neck. Erik in turn enclosed her waist in his arms, pulling her firmly into his body. He leaned into the kiss, which became an open-mouthed one. His tongue fiercely embraced hers, completely possessing her mouth, while Christine gave herself up to the kiss, surrendering her heart and soul into his keeping, while taking his in return.

They knew not how long they stood thus, locked in their embrace, which was gradually becoming more heated, when they heard Father Lecourt again clearing his throat, as loudly as he possibly could. They broke the embrace, a little embarrassed. Now they looked around, a bit dazed, as Lecourt, Giry, Meg, and Nadir came up to them, all four smiling and laughing.

"Oh, Madame!" exclaimed Christine, as the lady herself came over to her, embracing her with all the love and happiness a mother would feel. "Oh, I am so happy, so happy!" she continued, sobbing and laughing at the same time. Madame Giry was openly weeping as well, as she kissed both of Christine's cheeks. Meg waited her turn; then, unable to contain her happiness, grabbed Christine in a tearful hug.

Christine was saddened at the thought that she would soon be parted from this girl who was like a sister to her.

"I shall miss you so, Meg," she said softly, embracing the little dancer. "I do not know when I shall be able to see you dance again..."

Meg could not trust herself to speak just yet, so she stepped back, holding her friend's hands, and looked her over approvingly, smiling through her tears.

"Christine..." she was finally able to say, "I have never seen a more beautiful bride! You look like a princess!"

Christine smiled, squeezing Meg's hands. "Thank you, my sweet little sister. I am so glad you were here to witness our happiness!"

Lecourt and Nadir walked over to Erik, who had temporarily removed his mask, and now began rubbing his eyes, fearing the whole thing might be a dream he would soon awaken from. They embraced him briefly, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand, while advising him to take care of his bride. They then went over to Christine, embracing her as brothers would, giving her a kiss on both cheeks.

Madame Giry walked over to Erik, looking at him fondly, also feeling motherly ties to him. As she embraced him, she whispered to him, "You now have a devoted wife whose wellbeing is your responsibility. Please do not endanger her in any way." She then broke the embrace to look at him solemnly. She then softened her stern admonition by smiling gently at him.

"I will not disappoint you, Mother," he said then, with great emotion. Her eyes filled with tears as she heard these words. Then she playfully cuffed his arm, as she smiled at him. "I am not really old enough to be your mother, but it pleases me to hear the word. Still, you should really regard me as your older sister." He laughed, and they embraced again.

Nadir joyfully interrupted them. "Well, Erik," he exclaimed, all smiles, "you are, I suppose, going to claim your new bride, are you not?"

Erik, smiling, turned from Madame Giry, and walked over to Christine. He took her hands, and looking into her eyes, softly inquired, "How are you feeling , my sweet angel?"

Smiling through her tears, she replied, just as softly, "Divinely, my love."

They then turned to face the chapel doors, joining hands, and walked down the aisle toward them, while the others followed with their lighted candles.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: The Honeymoon Journey Begins**

Erik and Christine emerged from the chapel, into the star-filled night. She turned her face up to his, as they paused before the chapel doors. He brought his lips to hers again, softly, his hot breath fanning out onto her cheeks. She had to forcibly separate herself from him, as her own breathing had become rather unsteady.

Nadir stepped up quietly behind them. Erik, feeling the daroga's presence, turned to him.

The Persian smiled enigmatically at Erik. "I have arranged for some...transportation." Then, without warning, he put his fingers to his lips, blowing a piercing whistle that had the women covering their ears. From out of nowhere, a large, beautiful Arabian stallion appeared, trotting majestically up to the chapel steps. Erik, Christine, and the others stared at the animal, astonished.

"Nadir, you have definitely outdone yourself this time!" exclaimed Erik in admiration, as he ran his eyes over the stallion's sleek flanks. He was an excellent judge of horseflesh, having loved the animals ever since he could remember. He missed the horse that had served him so well, at the Opera House. He was now reminded of the regal horses that flew over the arid plains of Persia.

In the brilliant moonlight, the stallion shone like an ebony jewel. It seemed to Erik that he was an elegantly wrought sculpture come to life. Turning to Nadir, he asked, "Where did you acquire this magnificent creature?"

The Persian smiled, evidently quite pleased at Erik's reaction. "May I introduce you both to my dearest friend, Al-Hafaz? He has traveled with me all the way from Persia. I had simply never told you about him before, Erik. I trained him myself, from the time he was one year old. He has never known anything but kindness, and so has never had his spirit broken. I could have had him gelded a long time ago, but I utterly abhor the practice, which I consider totally unnecessary. Well, you will take good care of him, will you not?"

Erik and Christine both stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Yes, indeed," Nadir assented, clapping Erik on the shoulder. "He is my wedding present to you."

Erik found himself completely speechless. He looked from the horse to Nadir, and then back again to the horse. Christine, meanwhile, leaned over and gave Nadir a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Nadir," she murmured, her eyes shining.

Erik chuckled as he noticed the daroga's embarrassed face. "Why, my dear daroga! I do believe you are blushing!"

"Come, come!" said Nadir, brusquely. "Up with you both! You are to start your honeymoon at once, do you hear?"

Erik shook the Persian's hand, meeting his eyes. "Nadir, this shall not be forgotten, by either one of us."

Erik then turned to Christine, and, taking her hand, led her down the steps toward the waiting horse, who remained completely still, softly blowing air from his great nostrils. Christine did not feel intimidated by his size, as she had been around horses before, as a child in Sweden. Nadir moved to the great stallion's head, holding him by the mere touch of his hand on the horse's nose. Christine carefully put one foot in the left stirrup, and, while Erik waited, easily swung her other leg over the stallion's back, holding the pommel with one hand, while she grasped the skirt of her gown. Once in the saddle, she tucked the folds of the skirt carefully around her body. Erik smiled up at her admiringly.

"I see I have married an expert horsewoman!" he exclaimed, laughing, as he prepared to mount.

She grinned down at him. "Shall I help you up, my dear sir?" she teased.

"Ah, you shall definitely pay for that remark, you saucy wench!" he teased back, as he, too, swung up onto the stallion, and settled himself in the saddle, right behind her. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he gathered the reins with his free hand.

Nadir stroked the horse's nose affectionately, patting his neck as well. His voice broke as he spoke softly to the beautiful animal he had so carefully nurtured and loved.

"Good-bye, my friend," he murmured, as the horse dipped his head, nuzzling Nadir's shoulder. "Perhaps we shall meet again."

Erik suddenly felt guilty. Nadir was obviously quite fond of the stallion.

"Fear not, most excellent daroga! We would not dream of taking such a lavish gift from you! We shall return him to you as soon as we are able."

The Persian shook his head determinedly. "I freely give him to you. You must accept him, or I shall feel highly insulted."

Christine smiled down at Nadir. "You shall see him often, then, Nadir. We will make sure you do, when we are established..." She broke off, and turned to Erik. "My love, where are we going? And...where are we to live?"

Nadir answered for him. "For now, you are to go...here." So saying, he produced an envelope from his voluminous clothes, and handed it to Erik. The latter took it, opening it at once. He smiled broadly as he read its contents, then wordlessly handed it to Christine. She read it quickly, and gave out a little gasp as she delicately covered her mouth with one hand.

"Nadir..." She looked at him, then at Erik, a radiant smile spreading over her face.

"Closer than a brother, Erik. Remember that." With that, the Persian released the stallion's head. Christine turned to wave to Meg, Madame Giry, and Father Lecourt, then blew a kiss to Nadir. Erik gathered the reins firmly again, and gently tapped the horse's flanks with his booted heels, turning the animal's head just as gently. Al-Hafaz snorted, and obeyed his new master's command, moving away from the chapel steps at a slow canter.

Christine sighed contentedly, leaning back onto Erik's broad chest, while he tightened his arm possessively around her. They were now officially beginning their honeymoon. Both tried to release all thoughts of what the future held in store for them. For now, they were together, as husband and wife at last.

A long ride through the outskirts of the city, and then the countryside, awaited them. Erik sighed uneasily, wondering whether they would be able to leave the city undetected. He was now regretting having ever brought Christine into this madness that was his life. He did not deserve to be loved by such a woman. But his first glimpse of her, from the darkness of Box Five at the Opera House, had sealed his destiny. From that moment, he had been helpless to do anything but love her. Christine heard his sigh, and, turning her face up to his, lifted a hand up to caress his visible cheek.

"What is it, my love? Are you not bursting with happiness, as I am?"

He looked around warily at the silent buildings they were passing, and did not immediately answer.

"Tell me what is troubling you, Erik," she insisted.

He sighed once more. "This is all a dream, my sweet angel. It should never have been. And we shall soon be awakened by the Paris police. It is only fitting, wouldn't you say? Do not forget what you have married, my dear..."

Christine continued to caress his cheek, now leaning her head back onto his chest.

"Erik," she murmured, "I have married a man with a beautiful soul. You have tainted that beauty with murder, but this does not mean that you are incapable of goodness. I cannot help but love you in spite of what you have done."

Incredibly moved, he pressed a kiss upon the top of her head, as they continued on their nocturnal ride.

"I shall love you until my last breath leaves my body, and beyond that, as well, my beautiful wife..." He moved his hand from her waist to her cheek, caressing it as she had done with his. Then he glanced up at the moon, the eternally watchful moon, and thereupon made a solemn vow, to Whoever was up in the heavens. He would treasure this woman forever, doing nothing that could possibly bring any harm to her, emotional as well as physical.

They silently passed through the streets of Paris like misty wraiths, on their way to a small inn in the country, where the Persian's manservant, Darius, was waiting for them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: The Aristocrat's Search**

The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny was not, as were most male aristocrats of his acquaintance, a man of shallow character, given to drink and the pleausures of the flesh. He had been in love briefly before, years before meeting Christine at the Opera House again. However, he had discovered, in a very painful fashion, that the object of his affections, although a member of the aristocracy, was not worthy of him. She had merely been interested in the size of his inheritance. When a slightly wealthier suitor had appeared, she had promptly broken off her relationship with Raoul, which had nearly, but not yet, become an engagement. The young Vicomte, heartbroken, had promised himself to stay away from women for the rest of his life. He had rashly made this promise while uncharacteristically downing glass after glass of the finest spirits his friends could obtain for him. Surrounded by them, at the fashionably decorated _Salon des Belles-Fleurs_, he had boisterously toasted their gaudily painted paramours, damning them to hell in the next breath, again and again. Then he had pitched forward, soundly asleep.

The pounding headache and horrible sickness of the very next day had made him swear more uncharacteristic oaths, to his friends' vast amusement.

Raoul now recalled these events with great chagrin, telling himself that he had been the world's greatest fool for letting Christine go so easily. However, he was a gentleman, and not, as he proudly reminded himself, in name only. He could not bring himself to coerce a woman to remain in a relationship with him, if she did not choose to do so. In the next instant, he told himself that Christine's case was different. She was the second woman he had ever fallen in love with, or perhaps the only one. After all, he had loved her as a child. He realized that he had been pretending to himself that he had loved that other woman, the one who had rejected him. As for the ones in between these two.....well, he did not often bed women for the mere pleasure of it. He knew he was the laughingstock of his circle of friends for this. He did not care. Sex, to him, meant much more than a roll in the hay. He actually had to feel something for the woman. So, he had frequently had to make do in other ways.......

Shaking his head of memories, Raoul brought his attention back to the present. Soon he would be receiving word from the second detective he had hired. He needed to know where Christine was. She had unexpectedly outsmarted him. She must have known, somehow, that he had had no intention of actually taking her to that beast of a man. No, he had pretended to go along with her wishes, planning to follow her coach as soon as he could, without arousing her suspicions. While he went into the hotel, she immediately hired another coach, however, and given him the slip. Still, he had been sure that she would go to the Opera House, so he had immediately gone there, on his borrowed steed.

Now he knew that she had never made it to the Populaire. Somehow, she had met Erik, or someone he knew, along the way, and disappeared. That was what the first detective had told him. Raoul had dismissed him when the man told him that he had been unable to learn anything else about the young diva's whereabouts.

On the recommendation of a friend who had sworn that he was completely satisfied with services rendered, the Vicomte had hired Monsieur Bonvivant. He had not liked the man's name, but had nevertheless decided not to hold that against him.

Now Raoul waited impatiently, pacing up and down the vast hotel lobby, to the consternation of several young, lovely aristocratic ladies, who had repeatedly tried, unsuccessfully, to get his attention.

The Vicomte looked once again at his pocket watch. He sighed rather dramatically, oblivious to the accompanying sighs of the aforementioned young ladies.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte!" Raoul looked up, and yet another sigh, this time of relief, escaped his lips. His demeanor brightened.

Bonvivant strode confidently toward him, a broad grin on his face. "Success, monsieur!" He was full of energy. As he reached Raoul, he thrust a three-page document into the young man's waiting hands.

Raoul glanced quickly over the pages, as the detective waited. Then he looked up, his expression one of great distress.

"Married? How could she be _married_? Where, you say?"

"It is there, in the document, sir. The name of the chapel, and that of the priest, as well."

"But......how......so soon?" Raoul felt as though he had been thrust into an airless tunnel.

"I am sorry, monsieur. Those are the facts. I have also discovered where they are going."

"There's........more?" Raoul stammered, momentarily confused.

"It's on page three, sir. They are heading into the country, on horseback."

Raoul took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. Well, if he could not have her, neither would that madman. For her own good, married or not, he had to get her away from him.

He looked up from his musings, to find the detective staring at him expectantly.

"Here, my good man," the Vicomte said, pulling a purse full of coins from one of his vest pockets. "You shall be receiving more, as I shall be needing your services for a longer time than I had expected. How soon can you leave with me?"

"I will be ready at your convenience, monsieur."

"Very good, then. We leave within the hour. Our goal is to catch the fugitives."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but would that be wise? Should we not contact the police, and give them this information? From experience, I can tell you what is bound to happen, when a jilted suitor finds the woman with the man she left him for."

Raoul thought it over briefly. "Perhaps you are right, monsieur. Let us go to the police, then."

Turning, Raoul walked back to his hotel room, the detective eagerly following him.

Behind them, one of the young loadies had swooned, and the others were fanning her with their elegant, custom-made hats.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: The Music of the Night...**

Christine closed her eyes as she leaned back into Erik's chest, but did not fall asleep. She was much too excited for that. Besides, it was a lovely night, just perfect for a romantic ride like this. She, like Erik, felt as if she were in a dream. She sighed in peaceful contentment. Nothing could possibly mar these wonderful moments that she would hold close to her heart forever. She could not imagine feeling a greater sense of total bliss...

Erik heard her contented sigh, and smiled. Letting go of the reins, leaving them slack on the pommel, but keeping one arm around her waist, he reached for her cheek. He paused before touching her, thinking that he wanted to do so with his bare hand. He wanted to feel her skin's silky softness. So, still steadying her around the waist, he brought his free hand to his mouth, and tugged the glove off with his teeth. Christine, aware of his actions, laughed softly, and reached up to take the glove. She then sighed happily again as his hand lovingly descended upon her cheek, sliding over it with the gentlest touch.

Erik was suddenly overcome with emotion. At that same moment, Christine realized that the great stallion was coming to a halt.

"My love," she whispered, puzzled. "What are you...?"

"Christine," he whispered back, his voice hoarse with passion. "Turn around as far as you are able, my sweet, I beg of you..."

She did so, still puzzled, and was surprised by his sudden, strong embrace. He urgently lifted her face up to his, and she closed her eyes as his lips descended upon hers, savoring them, tasting her tongue. He broke off the kiss as abruptly as he had started it, to caress her neck, staring intently into her now open eyes. Then he took her mouth once more, as a bolt of energy coursed through her, striking her to the core.

"My wife...my wife...Christine, is it true? You are mine? You are not an illusion? You will not leave me again, my beloved?" Now he took her face with both his hands, and she was deeply moved at the earnestness she saw in his blazing eyes. She put her hands over his, attempting to reassure him.

"Erik, you know that I am truly yours, forever. Do not doubt it for an instant! My heart has freely chosen you, even though it was you that sent me away with Raoul. Do you not remember? I have left Raoul, and married you. It is you I want by my side." She then kissed his lips tenderly, and wiped a solitary tear that had begun trailing down his uncovered cheek.

Picking up one of her hands, he kissed the palm with great feeling. "Ah, my love," he whispered, so forlornly that she felt a stab of guilt. "Why then did you so willingly go with him? Why did you not attempt to stay?"

Her eyes, brimming with tears, met his. "Erik, I was afraid of you...at the same time, I was confused by your actions. You told me that you loved me, and yet, you gave me to him..."

"Ah, Christine...I would never reject you! But my decision was prompted by the fear that you would eventually reject me, if I had forced you to share the darkness I lived in..."

She could not immediately reply to that, as she was too distraught for words. So, wordlessly, she took his gloveless hand, and placed it over her heart. Her eyes told him how she felt. After a moment, she whispered, "It is all in the past, my husband...I am here with you, and by your side I shall remain, no matter what happens... And now we must move on, my love, or we shall never reach our destination, at least, not before sunrise." She smiled as she said this, stroking his cheek, her eyes never leaving his.

Erik looked intently at her, then nodded, almost imperceptibly. A great sigh shook his entire body, and he seemed to relax.

"Yes, you are right," he murmured, as he ran one of his hands through her hair. "Let us move on." He then took hold of the reins once more with one hand, while winding the other around her waist once again.

"Christine...I love you," he sang softly to her, as he had done just before he had given her into Raoul's arms, his heart tearing apart as he saw the Vicomte steal her away.

Smiling, she reached up to wind one arm around his neck, as she resumed her position, leaning against his chest. "Erik...I love you back," she sang in reply.

The stallion tossed his head, snorting. He seemed to understand that he was to pick up his pace, and did so without any indication from his new master. His supple muscles seemed tireless, as the couple continued to ride through the night.

Erik's senses were heightened, and he felt the unseen rhythms of the night as never before. It was she who inspired him, who brought to completion the music in his soul...He held her tenderly as they rode, his heart full and at rest.

It was not too much past two in the morning when they arrived at the forest. They would soon be in the countryside. In the darkness, the ancient trees seemed to hold a hidden enchantment that pulled at the senses with a strange, silent music. Erik felt immediately drawn to them, instinctively yearning for their sheltering arms. Although he was as eager as his bride to reach their destination, he thought it prudent to take a short rest. He therefore reined in the great stallion with the merest tug, as the stately animal was extremely responsive. They slowed, approaching a thick clump of trees, beneath which Erik felt they could rest unseen. The moon was seemingly collaborating by clothing herself in clouds.

Once they were among the trees, and Erik was satisfied that they could not possibly be detected, he slid from the horse's back, and then reached up to help Christine down. She trustingly held onto his strong shoulders as his large hands clasped her waist, and easily lifted her down. She was at once enclosed in his embrace.

"Erik," she managed to whisper breathlessly, as he enfolded her in the folds of his cloak. "Why are we stopping here? Are you not anxious to be at the inn?"

"Wait, my love," he murmured, as he looked around at the nocturnal landscape. "Do you not perceive the beauty of the night? Why not rest for a short while, here in the dark, where we might even engage in heated embraces and passionate kisses, totally sheltered by these leaf-cloaked sentinels?"

Christine gasped, although she had to stifle a laugh. She broke away from him, afraid that she would succumb to the magic of his sensuality. She must not let that happen. The activities her new husband had in mind would inevitably lead to lovemaking. She could never do such a thing in public, not even under cover of darkness, even with no one about. How was she to know whether someone were not in fact lurking in the background?

Erik reached for her, intoxicating her in spite of herself, with his dark masculine laugh. She danced out of his reach.

"Erik! You would not dare do such a thing!" She batted at his arms in mock anger, laughing, and took several more steps back.

"Ah, my sweet wife, I do believe the idea is not entirely repugnant to you!" He playfully began to reach for her again.

"Erik! Don't you come any closer! Why, the very idea! Had I known that I had married a..."

In answer, Erik abruptly jumped forward, grabbed her, and brought her hard agaisnt his body, his hand over her mouth. She was caught entirely by surprise, and felt anger beginning to surge through her. Did he mean to violate his own wife?

"Shhhh..." She heard his breath hissing from his mouth, and her heart lurched. "Did you not hear that?"

All she could hear was the loud beating of her badly shaken heart, growing louder by the second. Erik's breath was now a harsh rasp as he continued to hold her, tightly. She realized that he was listening with his entire body, his innate predatory instincts preparing him for instant action. The melancholy soughing of the breeze in the tree branches brought fearful shivers up her spine. Al-Hafaz seemed to sense something, too, for he stirred, nickering softly. Erik made a strange clicking sound with his tongue, and the stallion grew silent. All was momentarily still. Christine's heart thundered as Erik continued to hold her tightly against him, ready to protect and defend her, if necessary.

Then she heard it, too, the sounds borne on the gently stirring breeze. Hoofbeats in the distance, growing closer.

They were being followed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Night Melodies**

Christine felt her heart constrict with fear, not for herself, but for Erik. Just as the two of them had at last achieved happiness, it was to be taken away...She began to tremble, helplessly. Erik, who was still holding her to his body, hugged her tightly for a moment. Then he picked her up, kissing her forehead.

"Do not fear, my love," he whispered tenderly. "We have plenty of cover here. They may not see us, and pass right by."

She whimpered, looking up at him as he strode swiftly to the stallion's side. "Erik, they shall take you away from me..." Her voice caught on a sob.

"Hush, my sweet," he soothed, softly. Then he clicked his tongue in that strange manner again, and the great horse stirred, turning his head to look at them in the darkness. Erik carefully placed Christine on his back.

"You are a good horsewoman, I know," he said, looking up at her. In spite of the deep darkness, he was able to see her clearly, thanks to his uncannily acute night vision.

"If they come for me, I want you to kick his flanks as hard as you can, and give him his head. He will take you to Nadir. I am the one they want. You have nothing whatever to do with any of this."

"No, Erik!" she cried out, "I will not leave your side!" She now began to weep in earnest.

"Christine," he murmured, in his most soothing tone. "You and I both knew that it would come to this. I am, after all, a murderer..."

"But you are so much more!" she exclaimed, passionately.

"No crime goes unpunished for long, in one way or another..." He sighed. "I have perpetrated the deeds for which they now seek me. The fact that I hide a horrible disfigurement beneath this mask will immediately condemn me in their eyes. They will always persist in seeing me as a monster. So, even if I were I completely innocent, I would still be found guilty."

She could not answer, and continued to sob uncontrollably.

The hoofbeats were clearly audible now. Hidden by the trees, the Phantom and his love waited, hearts pounding, scarcely breathing. They were completely sheltered from view inside the thick clump of trees. The moon, too, was well hidden behind dense clouds. The night breeze had stilled, and not even a leaf stirred now. Only the sound of their erratic breathing, as well as the stallion's occasional low snort, could be heard.

Suddenly, a small group of men on horseback entered the forest. One carried a lantern, which swung crazily to and fro as its beams swept the eerie gloom of the massed trees.

"How many are there?" Christine whispered, her voice trembling.

"I cannot tell as yet," he whispered back. "But speak no more, my love. I have thought of something which may extricate us from our present predicament. We will reach our destination in peace, after all. I know not what destiny may bring thereafter, but we shall truly enjoy our first night as husband and wife!"

Puzzled, she was about to ask him how this would be possible, when he began to sing, as melodiously as ever, yet allowing his voice to carry inexorably toward the group of horsemen that were so intent on finding him. Christine gasped, feeling a jarring bolt of sheer terror travel up her spine. Surely his voice would draw them in to him now! Erik, mindful of her great fear, quickly grasped her hand, which he stroked reassuringly. She again began to tremble, yet he continued to sing, in that powerful, yet tenderly flowing voice that had mesmerized her the very first time she had heard it. It swept up on the soft breeze, through the tree branches, to the very sky, and then down to touch her heart. His voice was all around them, inside them, trilling like a translucent stream of harmonies... He sang the lullaby of the love between earth and sky, of the enchantment of Nature. He sang of lost souls, reaching for each other across chasms of misunderstanding. He sang of the endless river of life, and of the great tapestry of the human race...The music embraced her, comforted her, enveloped her in its intricate sequences of flowing sound. She felt herself drowning pleasantly in it, carried along in its powerful, enticing tide. Erik caught her effortlessly before she fell off the horse's back as sleep pulled its tendrils around her. He ended the song as softly as he had begun it, its last notes sighing away on the very slight breeze that now caressed their faces again. Then, with sudden agility, he grasped the pommel, and swung himself up onto the horse's back, bringing her with him. The other horses, at a short distance away, stirred and whinnied briefly. Then there was utter silence once more. Erik took the reins firmly in one hand, and, holding Christine securely by the waist with the other, spurred Al-Hafaz into a gentle trot. They came out of the clump of trees, and he headed the stallion away from their hiding place.

Christine, dazed, leaned back into Erik's chest once more, slowly awakening from the spell he had spun about her. Neither of them spoke for several long moments, as they continued toward the edge of the forest.

"Erik...," she whispered at last. "What happened? What did you do to me with those incredibly beautiful melodies? I find I have no will to resist them...I only wish to be near the source of that heavenly music, to sleep, to immerse myself in it...Is that one of your compositions?"

He smiled in the darkness, kissing the top of her head. "I know precisely what effect this lullaby's melodies have on the human soul. They express the deepest human longings, which are all reducible to one: to love and be loved. And yes, I did write it, a long time ago, when I first dreamed of making you my wife...I intend to sing it to our children, my love, as they sleep contentedly in their mother's arms..." As he said this, he brought up the hand that held the reins, to gently caress her cheek.

"Oh, Erik..." She sighed, smiling, and, reaching up, caressed his cheek as well. Then she sighed again. His voice...it simply entranced her...She could never get enough of that voice...

"Why did you sing this lullaby, Erik? What of the horsemen following us? I can no longer hear them!"

He chuckled softly, quite pleased with himself. "If we were to go back, my dear, I do believe you would find them all sound asleep, right on the backs of their horses. Even the horses themselves were not completely unaffected. You will notice that Al-Hafaz is quite placid, too."

She was rendered totally speechless. That his voice could so enchant the human spirit, as well as charm non-human creatures, was incredible to her.

"I could see no other way for us to avoid my capture, unless I had resorted to violence. I do have the punjab lasso, hidden away in the folds of my cloak." He gently squeezed her shoulder. "But I knew you would not want me to kill in your presence, especially on our wedding night!"

"Oh, Erik! Thank you for that! But I want you to promise me that you will never kill again, ever!"

He smiled, grimly. "That, my sweet, is not entirely within my power. Were your life to be threatened by anyone at any time, I would most assuredly kill without compunction!"

"I would hope that it would not come to that, my angel." She tightened her grip on his hand, and bringing it up to her lips, kissed it tenderly.

"Brace yourself, my darling! Your riding skills are to be put to the test now!"

He suddenly urged Al-Hafaz into a gallop, while Christine immediately leaned forward, holding the pommel, allowing her body to move in rhythm with the horse's gait. There were no signs of pursuit, and the stallion swiftly bore them through the night, his great lungs gulping in large amounts of air, his gallant heart pumping as his speed gradually increased to that of a race champion. Erik felt immense gratitude toward the Persian for such a gift. This horse was obviously descended from royal equine blood.

The first glimmerings of light were beginning to spread through the foliage. Still they must go on. There were a few country folk moving about at that early hour, taking their wares to market. They stared in open-mouthed amazement as the strange pair on horseback came upon them, obviously having emerged from the forest, only to flash past their astonished gazes. They could not thereafter agree on what they had witnessed. Some affirmed that they had seen the devil and his consort riding a horse that was straight from the pits of hell. Others just as firmly insisted that they had seen a ghost, carrying off the spirit of a woman recently passed from life, on the back of the devil's own horse. All agreed, however, that the male rider had been masked. That was the one detail that had indelibly etched itself in their memories.

The sky began to change its hues from deep purple-black to magenta and orange. The countryside opened out before them, its fall colors catching the light of the nascent sunrise. Al-Hafaz took them along a broad road bordered by massive trees much like those of the forest. The cool morning breeze stirred Christine's wayward tresses, which tickled Erik's face deliciously as they flew through the stirring morning landscape. The great stallion had still shown no signs of tiring.

At last, round a bend in the road, glowing in the golden shadows of dawn, they saw the inn, sheltered by sturdy oak trees.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: The Pursuit Intensifies**

Raoul had not been prepared for the sheepish reaction from the policemen, when he had asked whether the fugitives had been located yet. One of the men had coughed, then casually gotten up from his desk, and sauntered out of the room. Two others had looked away, obviously embarrassed, and began to concentrate fiercely on filling their pipes with tobacco.

Raoul was totally bewildered. 'But where have they disappeared to?" His tone betrayed his rising anger and disappointment.

"Monsieur," the commissary answered at last. "We do not know at present. They have, quite simply, vanished into the night."

"Gentlemen!" Raoul's impatience had risen to new heights. "Am I to believe that the Parisian police really does deserve its reputation for ineptitude? The Phantom and Mademoiselle Daae must be found! This man is a murderer! You have witnesses, do you not?"

"Monsieur," the commissary replied, his voice taking on an icy tone. He knew he had to be careful whenever he spoke with a member of the aristocracy, but felt honor-bound to defend his men. "You will not presume to lecture either myself or my officers on proper police procedure. Do you understand?"

"Indeed I do!" Raoul's tone had now become contemptuous. "I cannot hope to make you fools into capable policemen, but, if you are interested, I have information that might be useful to you. My man here, Monsieur Bonvivant, has gathered it for me."

The commissary had to swallow the curses he had been about to fling at the young man, fancy aristocrat or not. He harrumphed loudly.

"Very well, Monsieur. Let us see this information."

The policemen who had, a few seconds before, been concentrating on filling their pipes, suddenly sat up with new interest, and then got out of their seats to stand, one on each side of the commissary. One of them began twirling his long, thick mustache. They both peered at the document in the commissary's hands.

The commissary read briefly, then looked up at Raoul. "You are sure of this information, Monsieur?"

Hearing this, the dedective puffed in indignation. "_Monsieur le commissaire_," he said, hissing through his teeth, "do you know who I am?"

The commissary, unimpressed, dismissively ran his gaze over him. "No," he admitted, quite frankly.

The detective's chest puffed out. He felt deflated. Still, he persisted. "Well, if does not matter if you do not. I can assure you that I am one of the best and most reliable detectives in Paris. I always manage to obtain the information deemed most important by my clients. The Vicomte here hired me upon the highest recommendations, from very prestigious clients, I can assure you. Why, one of them even knows the Duke of Levremonde himself!"

With that, Bonvivant drew himself up proudly. "Every word in that document is factual, sir. I have access to excellent informants, you see."

"And who might those be?" The commissary continued to stare at him, trying hard not to show his amusement and contempt.

"Sir!" Bonvivant was clearly offended. "A professional such as myself never reveals the identity of his sources!"

"They are undoubtedly handsomelhy paid off, naturally," was the commissary's sardonic reply.

His remark was met with a silent glare from the detective.

Raoul could stand this no longer. "Are you quite ready, Monsieur, to take up the chase again? Surely you will accept my detective's information. We are wasting time here!"

The commissary turned a dour look upon him. "Very well, Vicomte. We leave right now. We will be sure to keep you informed....."

"Oh, but I am coming with you, monsieur," Raoul said firmly.

The commissary took one look at the young man's face, and wisely decided not to argue with him. He was, after all, a friend of the aristocracy, however corrupt they might be. One did not quarrel with those who paid one's salary, after all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: The Awakening**

The sun's slanting rays touched the rustling trees with gold. A soft breeze gently stirred the window curtains. On the room's ample bed, a woman's arm, draped across a man's naked chest, moved slightly.

Christine opened her eyes. She became aware of her arm on Erik's chest, and of his peaceful breathing. She smiled. It had taken her a few seconds to realize where she was, and with whom she lay in bed......

The time she had spent with her new husband had been the most wonderful of her life. She had given herself entirely to him. Their lovemaking had been luxuriously slow at first, due to their mutual inexperience. Later on, however, their insatiable desire and love for one another had turned their timidly sensuous sport into a truly passionate one.

Toward the end of the first day, they could only lie in each other's arms, completely satisfied and happy.

Toward the end of the second day, Erik had fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder. Later on, she had somehow found herself with her head on his chest. Then, she, too, had once more tumbled into a restful sleep.

Darius had discreetly withdrawn after serving them breakfast, upon their early morning arrival, on the first day. Christine blushed as she realized that she and Erik had spent two entire days, as well as one night, alternately making love and sleeping, with no thought for food. Then she smiled again. She had certainly married a man with plenty of stamina! It was hardly surprising, however. She had always been aware of Erik's strong sensuality. It rippled from him, with no effort on his part, enveloping her in its intoxicating aura.

Erik slowly drifted awake, becoming aware of a feminine hand alternately caressing his chest, and playing with the whorls of hair on it.

"Ummmm........" Smiling, he captured her hand. "My sweet angel is awake, and her soft hand is pleasantly abrading my skin. Does she have the appetitie for more than soft caresses?"

"Erik!" She laughed. "Are you really so very insatiable? Why, this is hardly decent!" She knew she was blushing furiously.

Erik joined in her laughter. "Christine, where you are concerned, I shall always want more, and more, and more......." Thus saying, he rose on one elbow, and would have moved to cover her with his body, but for her restraining hand on his chest.

"Erik, really! Are you not hungry?" She stared up at him, wide-eyed, yet laughing.

"Only for you, my love......." He bent his head in order to nibble at her left ear. Then, to his dismay, his stomach rumbled.

Christine's laughter pealed out once again. "I think your body has other ideas, my love! Come, let Darius prepare something for us. We have plently of time for......further lovemaking later, if you wish it."

"Oh, but I do wish it!" Erik chuckled as he began licking her ear.

Christine felt a rather delicious shiver course through her entire body. She gently pushed his head away, and sighed patiently.

"I promise you that we wil further enjoy ourselves later, Erik. You are, after all, a hard man to resist. But now, I know I am quite hungry, although my own stomach has yet to rumble......." Just then, her stomach made the same noise Erik's had, a few seconds earlier.

They laughed together.

Erik moved suddenly, in order to bound out of bed, but Christine restrained him. "Please cover yourself, sweet love. I......." And she blushed again, to her intense embarrassment.

Erik smiled tenderly. His new wife was becomingly modest. On the other hand, she had to accustom herself to the sight of her own husband's nudity. Still, he knew she needed time for that.

"Just turn your head, Christine. I will put on some clothes."

Christine did so, and heard the mattress rustle behind her. She peeked over one shoulder, and saw, with a satisfied sigh, that Erik was pulling on the trousers he had discarded at the foot of the bed two days before. Once finished with them, he then scooped up the shirt that he had hastily thrown next to the trousers, and put it on. Only then did he stand, and turn to Christine.

"Ah, I see you peeked!" he teased. "No matter. In time, you won't react so modestly to viewing your beloved's......attributes, shall we say?"

Christine, as red as a tomato, wordlessly threw her pillow at him, then buried her head under the covers.

Erik, laughing softly, walked into the adjoining room, where he pulled on a rope next to one of the divans, in order to summon Darius.

Christine, in the other room, brought her head from under the covers. Satisfied that Erik had left the room, she slowly took up a robe from a chair next to the bed, and drew it on, wrapping it closely around herself. She then stood, and tied the sash tightly.

"Erik?" she called out. "Have you rung for Darius yet?"

In answer, Erik came rushing back into the room. "Get dressed, my sweet," he said, tersely. "We must escape at once!"

"What?! What are you talking about, Erik? How could they have.......?"

"Christine! Darius has just informed me! They're on the way! I cannot explain further! Hurry!!"

They quickly gathered their very scant belongings. Erik had the advantange, naturally, since he had already dressed before getting up. Christine had no time for a more elaborate toilette, but had to literally throw her gown on.

"Come!" Erik tried to make her hurry. "One of these back windows will suffice!"

He then grasped her arm and dragged her to a window. Throwing up the sash, he looked outside, remembering, with dismay, that they were three floors up. Fortunately, a very stately tree stood right outisde the window, and one of its branches, which was close to the window, looked sturdy enough for them to put their weight on it.

"All right, Christine, I will go first, and help you onto the branch," he said, turning to her. Christine said nothing -- her stomach had turned into a pool of fear.

Erik looked at her, and gently ran one finger down her right cheek. "Do not fear, for I will not let you fall," he promised. Christine took a deep breath, and nodded. He then climbed out the window, and crawled onto the branch. Then he gingerly stood, balancing himself on it.

"It will definitely hold," he reassured her, and turned carefully, so as to assist her from the window. Christine just as carefully climbed out, silently cursing her voluminous skirts. Erik, however, immediately had her by the arm, and helped her to stand on the branch. They then inched their way to the trunk of the tree. Once there, Erik was able to find an open space in the middle of the trunk, nestled among several branches. Still firmly holding Christine's arm, he climbed into it. Immediately, he pulled Christine into his arms. She was shaking uncontrollably.

"Shhhh..........don't worry, we shall escape," he said, soothingly.

"I don't know if I can climb down," she said, trembling.

'But you will," he affirmed. He then turned his attention to finding footing on the next branch down. Once he had, he helped her onto it. Somehow, they found their way down, going from branch to branch.

Once their feet were firmly planted on the ground, Erik gave a low whistle. The stallion immediately appeared.

Erik boosted Christine up, and into the saddle, then swung himself up behind her. Then he shook the reins, as he made the strange clicking sound. The mighty stallion turned at once, heading away from the inn, and trotted into the wooded area behind it. Beyond lay an open field, and Erik gave Al-Hafaz his head. The black broke into a powerful, thundering gallop.

Thus the Phantom and his bride once more flew out of the hands of those who would have captured them, as swiftly as the wind over the sands of the Sahara desert.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: A Meeting of Like Minds **

Father Lecourt was no ordinary priest. He had incurred the current bishop's wrath because of his adamant support for some Calvinistic doctrines. Having been forced to reconsider his position, or face excommunication, he had been discreetly secreted away to an obscure little chapel on the fringes of Paris. Here, however, he felt a certain degree of freedom. He could certainly continue his unorthodox theological studies undisturbed.

It had come as no surprise to him when he had unexpectedly been visited by a mysterious man calling himself "Erik", several years back. Nor had Erik's companion been a shock. The Persian had struck the priest as a very peaceful, deeply philosophical person. Furthermore, his unquestioned loyalty to Erik had moved the Jesuit profoundly.

Through Nadir, Father Lecourt had also become familiar with the doctrines of Islam. Although these fascinated him, it was Nadir himself who truly interested him. His friendship with Erik was, thought the priest, certainly an unusual one.

It was Nadir who now sat across from Father Lecourt, calmly drinking a cup of tea the priest had prepared for him. The daroga was in a pensive mood, which was, as the Jesuit had gathered, a very frequent one for him.

Lecourt took a sip of his own tea, closely observing Nadir over the rim of his cup. Nadir was staring into the depths of his own, and seemed to be several miles away, in thought.

The priest sighed quite loudly, but the Persian seemed not to notice.

"I see that you're quite worried about our dear friend," the priest began.

Nadir seemed to come out of a daze. Nodding, he muttered, "I most certainly am."

"You know he will take every precaution, especially now that he has a wife to look after."

"Yes," agreed the Persian, knitting his brows together. "She can be an impediment, as well, however. I do not mean this in a heartless fashion, let me add. It is the stark reality."

The priest had to agree that it was so.

"But," continued Nadir, "it is the whole situation that I am most concerned with, and my participation in it. I have aided and abetted a fugitive from justice. Erik is not an innocent man. He is guilty of the crime he is accused of. Yet, how could I not have helped him? He is indeed like a brother to me."

The priest stirred uneasily, for he had been considering the very same things himself.

"He is indeed a complex character. He has suffered much. I knew that from the instant I met him. Both of you came to me in desperation. What could I do? I could not turn you away......"

"And yet", observed the Persian, as he took another sip of tea, "you are still haunted by your decision, as I am."

"Yes, even though the confessional is a sacred trust, and one that I am not prepared to violate, even if pressed to do so by the police. But I share your qualms about helping a murderer, whatever terrible events he may have lived through......still, I, too, treasure Erik's friendship. His is a brilliant mind. But his heart is also good, in spite of the things he has done. He is capable of love, in spite of everything."

The daroga put his cup down, smiling wistfully. He was about to speak, when there was a knock at the door. Father Lecourt's head snapped up, and Nadir stirred uneasily in his seat.

"You were not expecting anyone, Father, I presume?" he inquired politely.

The priest could not but notice what impeccable manners this man from Persia possessed. Then he rose, uneasily.

"No, I was not, especially at this time of night." On his way to the door, he glanced at the grandfather clock next to his bursting bookshelves.

"It's past midnight!" he exclaimed.

The knock was repeated, more loudly this time. Lecourt turned to the Persian.

"Perhaps it would be best if you concealed yourself, my friend," he suggested, in a worried tone.

The Persian silently assented, and promptly left the room.

The priest walked firmly to the door, putting his ear against it. He heard nothing. Suddenly, a muffled voice came through the heavy oak panels.

"Father! Please open at once! I have a message for you!"

The voice was unfamiliar to the priest. "Who are you?"

"You do not know me, Father. They told me to come to you."

The priest unbarred and opened the heavy door, to find a young boy, whom he had never seen before, standing before him. Lecourt looked quizzically down at him for a moment, then bade him enter.

The boy sheepishly mumbled a 'thank you', and crossed the threshold. Lecourt glanced briefly outside, then closed the door.

"Now, then," he said gently to the boy, who seemed to be quite nervous, "what is this message you have brought to me?"

The boy put a hand inside his short, brown jacket. Lecourt noticed that the jacket could not possibly be much protection against the night chill, and motioned for the boy to come and sit by the fireplace.

"Here it is, sir," the boy mumbled, handing the priest a folded note.

The old man took it in silence, mentally preparing himself for whatever news it might contain. Just before he opened it, he crossed himself.

He did not recognize the handwriting. At first, he thought it might be Erik's, for the script flowed elegantly, gracefully. He knew that Erik prided himself on his penmanship.

The contents shook him, although he had feared the event detailed therein.

_Dear Father Lecourt:_

_We are in hiding, a few miles north of Paris. Someone has followed us, and wounded Erik. Please send Nadir at once. Destroy this note as soon as you have read it._

_Christine_

The priest gave the boy a piercing look. "Who gave you this note, young man? And how did you find this house?"

The boy shook with fear. "A.....lady......gave it to........someone......and that person........." he stammered.

Lecourt put a hand on the boy's shaking shoulder. "Do not fear me, young man. I shall not harm you. How is it that you are here, in the middle of the night? Where are your parents?"

The boy stepped back, now suddenly defiant. "I don't have no parents, sir", he said firmly. "I don't need nobody!"

"All right, calm down. You came alone?"

The boy shook his head.

"Who are you with, then?"

The boy again shook his head. "I have to bring somebody back with me -- a Pershun, I think."

"Very well," said the priest, with a heavy sigh. And he called for Nadir to come out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: **If you liked what you've just read, please remember to review! Thanks again!


End file.
